


Start A Riot

by slnstrly



Series: into the woods: a verse [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Shiver (Book) fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolves, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Mysteries, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, The Ravens are Werewolf hunters, Werewolf Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slnstrly/pseuds/slnstrly
Summary: Missing people. Dead bodies. Restricted woods that seemed to taunt and lure him into the place he is forbidden to enter.Between sneaking into the strictly forbidden woods that could ultimately lead him to his death, making a friend that might have more secrets that he may be letting on, unravelling the secrets held in the town of Ravenswood, falling in love with someone from the other side of tracks, having strange, reoccurring dreams, Jeremy is definitely in for a rude awakening.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Alvarez & Jeremy Knox, Jean Moreau & Kevin Day, Jeremy Knox & Original Male Character, Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Laila Dermott & Jeremy Knox, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten & Jean Moreau, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: into the woods: a verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194377
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Start A Riot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [6_impossiblethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/6_impossiblethings/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVELY!!!! mwah :) xxx 
> 
> yo welcome all and enjoy this wild ride that I call a fic. this has been in the works for about a year, so I'm really excited to get this up. 
> 
> content warnings: death inside a dream, presumed character death/death. 
> 
> let me know if you think there should be more tags to be added. anyways, take care and good night

1\. 

Jeremy knows three things: his name is Jeremy Knox, he lived in a town called Ravenswood. And he’s currently dying. 

People always said before dying, you would see your life flash through your eyes, but Jeremy did not see anything. Except pale grey eyes and yellow teeth.

2\. 

Jean sees him. He watches the boy with blonde hair and ocean eyes dying in front of him.

Jean just stares. And the boy stares back; and no matter how much Jean wants to turn away or scream, or do anything else, he cannot.

He does not.

3\. 

Jeremy wakes up in his bed, slick sweat coating his skin. He breathes like a man who hasn’t felt the brush of oxygen in his lungs, his mind whispering unholy things that he doesn’t want to think nor hear about.

He tries calling out to his mother. But remembered she was at work again. She wouldn’t be able to hear him. How could she? And then shakes his head. Repeatedly. A dire attempt to console himself. To remind himself it was only a dream, despite how real it felt. He takes a sharp inhale. And repeats it like clockwork. 

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he wakes up in the comfort of his own bed, his own home, he always remembered the pale grey eyes that reminded him of moonlight.

He could never forget. 

4.

Jean remembers the lightning blue eyes. He desperately wishes to forget, to allow his memory to wither into smoke – by the Gods, he wished that could happen – but he couldn’t. He cannot.

He wishes he could say there wasn’t a moments or flashes of clarity sparking up in his brain. The irrefutable truth was that he remembered. He remembered it all; he remembers watching the boy wrapped in death staring at him without a hint of fear – and how Jean stared back. Lifeless, dull, meaningless. He did not cry out. His skin may have been as cold as the ice that inhabited – drenched – the boy’s skin, but his insides begged to differ. They were flooded with the deep, cold sea. Jarring and mesmerizing to touch all at once but the undercurrent wasn’t as pretty; it was ruthless, and brutality packed into one.

And tonight, Jean was the one screaming. The howl of the sea. Rage skittering underneath the bridge of his frigid bones.

And yet he stared back, becoming nothing except a phantom in the wind that was powerless to commit such a treasonous act such as movement, before waking up and returning to a life where he retreated back to being the same character in his dreams.

5\. 

Unfortunately for Jeremy’s sake, his life does not begin like a Fairy tale, nor is it one in the very slightest.

His life is intertwined with a string. A string of red fate that tangles up his spine and flimsy bones and tests his limits. This is his life but at the same time, it doesn’t. It’s folly, really. It feels like he’s playing a fool’s game, and he, of course, is losing. Like he has lost multiple times before.

Maybe he’ll just keep losing. But he supposed that was the idea of life, really. You just had to swim until you learned how to drown your demons.

So, mayhaps a fairytale might’ve sounded the dream right now. Well, maybe a person who didn’t live in Ravenswood – and live to mumble the grueling hatred of the town and what it stood for, the pick pocketed secrets that lied beneath the foundations of the town.

But still. Jeremy would like to think of himself as a romantic. Someone who may not be skilled in the ideologies of romance, per se, as he mayhaps not old enough or wise in the ideas of romance, or experience, to understand to its capabilities. But he likes to think he is a person – or he knows, deep down, under all the scrutiny and the glimpse of a failed marriage that his parents taught him, he knows that he has overcome it. Or, at least, he is in the process of doing it.

Or maybe - he is aware of the overlapping maybes that might be interpreted for a symbolization of apprehensiveness, complications, jarring pauses or stutters. The thing is – well, the assumed assumption is most likely correct; Jeremy is not educated in the ideas of romance. And what so-called romantics do.

But what he does know is: he knows how to write poetry at five in the morning about a person whose irises who made his bones dance and heart go unnaturally fast. A point to add was how this was how Jeremy viewed the world. He breathed into the world with a smile dripping with honey, empathy coursing through his limbs that quells all the way to his heart that often felt like the rumble of the sea.

Jeremy has lived in Ravenswood all his life. It’s the town he grew up in. The one he lives in currently. The place he hates the most.

From the outside, Ravenswood is a picture-perfect town with a good reputation to match its hollow exterior. The town of fleeting pleasures, where the night is cold and grueling, everyone knew everyone. The sort of town that had a curfew and the foundations were the ground rules that were set in place.

Jeremy has lived here his entire life. So has his family and ancestors for many generations.

The town ran on a few simple rules. Rules that Kengo Moriyama, the mayor, who owned this town, stood for. 

Don’t go out after dark. Do not interfere with the hunting activities the hunters - the Ravens - participate in. And the most important rule: do not go into the woods.

If any of these rules were to be broken – well, nobody really knows what happens. The only truth they knew was that the people who broke those rules were never to be seen again. So. It was probably best not to find out.

(Besides, who would wish to break them, anyway?)

But for a reason that Jeremy cannot quite pinpoint nor understand, the residents in his town were entranced by the mayor and the Ravens. Mayhaps it was him being biased in his wariness for them. Contrary to belief, it is not out of character or stilted his sense of self at any means. Jeremy was raised on etiquette, having firm morals set in place, mayhaps, sometimes, giving others the benefit of the doubt; but there was something about Riko. The Ravens. How they acted. That felt off. He doesn’t know what, when or how, but it was a gut feeling. A gut feeling that he felt on the tip of his ribs that never seemed to let him go. 

Or maybe it was the quirk of Riko’s lips that didn’t seem like it was associated with honey or a cup of hot tea. It was cold, unearthly and shook Jeremy out of his axis, despite how kind it was framed to be. Maybe Jeremy was seeing something due to the long nights of doing absolutely nothing and staring into space after waking up from another dream, drenched in sweat.

But perhaps he would never know. Perhaps nobody would ever know the truth. However stagnant or juxtaposed, or even horizontal that truth may well be. A truth that ignited fury. He sometimes wondered it was that truth that killed Kevin Day.

Jeremy cannot say he knew Kevin at all. They briefly spoke when they stuck together for a biology class to be partners, but he can’t say he knew well – to be frank, he doesn’t think anyone actually did. People had always murmured out reasonings about how they knew Kevin at his memorial, bringing him a bouquet of bright flowers with a tight-lipped smile with them; the truth was, the only reason some acknowledged his death at all was because of his famous status. And other than his untimely, undeserved death, he believed that was probably the most heartbreaking truth of all.

Jeremy, along with the rest of the town, stood at the memorial with dimly lit candles, soft strummed violins smoother than the chime of the angels and smoothly pressed words twisted with such emotion it raised a knife to the hearts that were listening so intently.

Riko made a speech about his grief, the overwhelming sadness he felt, how Kevin died in a terrible, tragic hunting accident, while the Ravens stood placidly behind him. Aside from two members. Nathaniel Wesninski. Jean Moreau. Of course, Jeremy knew them. They were quite impossible to miss. Nathaniel Wesninski is infamously known for his sharp, serpent tongue with a set of calculating eyes. Jean Moreau, the boy towering over Nathaniel, whispering harshly in his ear, is someone that Jeremy doesn’t know about.

Only knowing his jet-black ink hair were almost as dark as his irises. Eyes that flickered with yellow. However briefly. The same eyes he saw in his dreams.

One of them, Nathaniel Wesninski, infamous for his sharp, serpent tongue - not Jeremy’s words - and cold, calculating eyes the same colour as the sea. He can’t say he’s interacted much with Nathaniel, only heard rumours (not that Jeremy listened to it very much) despite the fact they both attended Ravenswood high, he was pretty much a ghost. And the other boy . . who towered over Nathaniel, whispering harshly in his ear, despite the stillness he tried to throw on. There was tension in his shoulders. And how his body shook violently out of his own accord – or so it seemed; whose jet black, ink hair was almost as dark as the colour of his eyes. 

His grey eyes flickered with yellow. However briefly. The same eyes he saw in his dream. 


End file.
